Young Love
by MoonstoneGoddess
Summary: Roy Gardner proposed to Anne. The moment the "yes" was out of her mouth she knew it was a mistake. That was three years ago, and Anne has had enough. Despite how much it causes her to despise herself, she decided to just- not. But leaving your husband doesn't exactly come with only sunshine and rainbows, as Anne discovered.
1. Anne Runs

Young Love

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 **If there is a scenario you wish to play out or even an OC you would wish to appear, please go ahead and tell me.**

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Anne sat, more or less composed, on a velvet, purple cushion on a sofa.

She had made her decision. She hated herself for it, to be so cowardly, to shirk a responsibility which she had brought on herself. But what choice did she have?

Young love was so rarely promising, she'd known it, and still she had accepted Roy Gardner. She hadn't been engaged a week before she realised her mistake. But she hadn't backed out. She'd been afraid- afraid of hurting someone, afraid of bringing shame on herself, Roy and his family, afraid of- so many things. But she would have hurt less people, brought shame on less people, if she'd left Roy then.

Instead of leaving Roy now.

Hearing her husband's steady, relaxed breathing from across the hall, Anne knew it was time to make her move.

Her bag- packed with clothes and money and food and jewellery (to sell)? Check. Check. Check. Check.

Herself? Her ideals intact?

Not check.

Anne placed her note on the velvet cushion:

Dear Roy,

I am honest in saying I don't want to hurt you. I don't- I sincerely don't. but there is no way out of the mess I made- and chose- without hurting you, and I am very sorry for that. It was never what I wanted.

I want to apologise to you, to your family, to everyone I've ever known, because I left my ideals aside and I hate myself for it.

I really do hate myself for this, in every way- but young love is unpredictable, and dangerous, and I can't live this life. I am not right for it. I see that now.

I wish only the best for you, and believe that things will work out for you someday. You will find the right love. I know you will. But she is not me.

I will look on our three years together with sadness, but no bitterness, and I hope so that you will do the same.

Goodbye, Roy. I'm sorry.

Then Anne stole quietly out of the large house and ran as far as her legs would carry her. Nobody peeked out of the houses in the night. Nobody saw a slim woman sprinting down roads with a big bag.

But in the morning, everyone knew. The odd but distinguished Mrs. Gardner had left her husband! She had run away and taken almost everything he'd bought for her and left him only a note! She'd let poor, young Mr. Gardner crying, in misery, and talked about the foolishness of 'young love'!

But by this time, Anne was long gone.

Anne's eyes watered as she sat on the train. People looked at her in awe, seeing the ladylike, rich, lucky woman. Not the too-young girl who was in too deep. Not the girl who deserted her husband and her ideals.

Anne thought back to about thirteen or so years ago, when she'd been an ugly girl with thick red hair, freckles all over her face, and ugly wincey garments. People had looked at her sideways, seeing the ugly, weird child. Not the odd, imaginative soul that inhabited the strange body. Not the joyous girl who finally had someone to love.

When her spirit was gold, Anne felt, everyone saw something ugly. When her spirit turned bad, everyone admired her. It hurt her.

She sat, her bag on her lap, staring straight ahead and trying not to cry.

When she got off the train it was midday.

The sun shined happily, not caring that Anne was hurting. Everyone was ignoring her. She wanted someone to help.

 _When did I get so selfish? I brought this on myself and I deserve it._

She checked in at a hotel.

The man with a glossed moustache who worked there smiled at her. The smile was false- too much teeth, and he was sucking his tongue- but there was a glint of real appreciation in his pale brown eyes. He had a good impression of this pretty young lady with starry grey eyes and long, glossy auburn hair, and her obvious wealth (seen from the flowers in her hat and the silk dress, not to mention the gold at her throat) and he was unusually courteous to her. A maid, passing by, heard the compliments he paid and bit back a smile. Mr Jones was the grumpiest, rudest, most bad-tempered man in Canada, and to hear his extravagant flattery was amusing.

Anne, however, was out of sorts, and was remarkably (for her) curt and uncivil. As Mr Jones was in the middle of commenting on her beautiful and- Anne shut the door in his face. He went away, muttering incredibly insulting things under his breath and growling at the innocent maid who was walking down the hallway with a mop.

Anne sat inside the fancy hotel room and took out a pen. She started writing:

Dearest Marilla,

You may or may not have heard rumours. Quite probably you have not- quite probably you are having a pleasant day. Well, I wish I didn't have to ruin it this way- I don't want to at all- but I must tell you what a beast I am.

I never told anybody of my marriage problems but there were some; Roy treated me elegantly. It was nothing to do with Roy. It was me and how I made mistakes.

I never really loved Roy- I knew that right after I accepted his proposal, but then it was too late. I thought I had stopped this from happening; but I only put it off. I wish so much that I had been able to learn to love him; I thought I would do it, but I couldn't.

Marilla, I decided that I couldn't live to be married with poor Roy, because I knew it was all a lie. So I packed up, left Roy a note and left.

Shirking duties is the most disagreeable thing, in my opinion; but there, I have gone and done it. I hate myself for it- but I couldn't continue. I absolutely despise myself now.

I feel such a beast.

I will not come home to Green Gables, so do not ask me. By-and-by, perhaps I will come- but not to live, for I don't deserve it.

Please, don't try to convince me that what I did was not wrong, because it was. You may think as hardly as you like of

Yours truly,

Anne G. Shirley

P.S. I don't feel qualified to be Anne Gardner anymore.

Anne bent her head over her letter. She didn't cry, but her eyes shone. Her head ached and all she wanted was sleep. But she had a duty. She wanted to tell the world how terrible she was.

So she started another letter, this one to Diana.

Four letters and countless numbers of tears later, Anne felt sick, exhausted, miserable, and crotchety.

She didn't bother to get into a nightgown. She didn't even take off her hat. Anne tumbled into bed, feeling sort of numb. In seconds she was asleep; but she slept fitfully, and her dreams were peopled with the ones she loved, glaring at her as she stood on their doorstep and slamming the door in her face.

Nobody came in while she slept, which was well, for tears ran down her face, and more than once she cried out in her sleep.H


	2. At Green Gables

There was a sensation at Green Gables when the letter was received.

"Did you ever hear the like!" Marilla exclaimed; but quietly.

Davy had a worried expression. "S'pose Anne don't come back, Marilla?"

"Of course she will, Davy Keith. Don't be ridiculous," Marilla snapped- but there was something remarkably like extreme distress in her eyes.

Dora sat quietly, but her face was paler than usual, so she almost blended with the white dress she wore. She caught Davy's shoulder as if to reassure him, but she gripped hard, digging into him. "Ow!" Davy screamed, and Dora withdrew her hand with more vigour than was necessary.

"It's good Mrs. Lynde is out," Dora whispered.

"Why would it be good I'm out?" Mrs Lynde asked. Of course, trust it to Mrs Lynde to be in the wrong place in the wrong time, and have ears fit for a bat into the bargain.

Dora slipped off her chair and stepped out of the room.

"Will nobody tell me what is going on?" Mrs. Lynde demanded loudly.

Davy shoved his knuckles into his eyes and howled. He fled the room, bumping Marilla and making her drop the letter. Mrs. Lynde picked it up and began to read. "Lawful heart!" she began, but Marilla did not stay for her tirade. She went from the kitchen fast as she could without running. She went up the stairs two at a time (a thing the dignified Marilla Cuthbert had never done before and which mortified her when she was calmer) and almost leapt through her door; thereupon she flung herself into bed and proceeded to cry stormily into her pillow. It didn't seem like the Anne she knew; this Anne saw herself as someone weak and powerless, and seemed so broken, and unable to stick to a task- it didn't seem right. It _wasn't_ right, it wasn't, it wasn't!

Mrs. Lynde came upstairs in due time; but upon seeing Marilla convulsed with sobs in the bed, she drew away. Even Mrs. Rachel Lynde had a slight twinge of tact in her personality, and it came into play then; very thankfully, for Marilla would never have forgiven Mrs. Lynde for barging in on her in such a state.

Mrs. Lynde cooked that night; but she muttered all the while as she mashed turnips, and she was in such a state of mind that she forgot to take the bacon out of the oven, and so the highlight of the meagre meal was black and ashy when she thought of it. Davy, overcome with grief at the idea of Anne never coming home, could do nothing but stab his fork into the mashed turnip and beetroot. Even the promise of chocolate biscuits wasn't enough to make him eat.

Dora ate well; but she was very quiet, even for her, and soon after eating Davy's mashed turnip, she asked Mrs. Lynde in a strange voice if she could leave the table, please, but she had barely pushed back her chair before she was sick all over the food and the tablecloth.

As for Marilla, she didn't come down for the rest of the day.H


	3. At Diana's

Diana received her letter the same day. It said much the same as the one Anne had written to Marilla.

Her jaw dropped as she read.

"Anne?" she whispered.

Small Anne Cordelia pulled at Diana's skirts. "U'er!" she demanded. Diana gently unhooked her little pink hands and continued reading. "Well!" she finally said.

At this moment Fred came into the room, little Fred Junior toddling after him.

"Well!" Diana declared again, at a loss for what else to say. She shivered despite the warmth of the day, and her voluminous skirts shook. "Well… well, I…"

"What is it?" Fred asked, moving closer to her.

Diana shook her head and drew back slightly, trying to hide the letter. "Well," she said once again. Fred frowned at her and reached out to take the letter.

"No!" Diana almost screamed. A draught of air drifted from the window and tore the letter out of Diana's plump fingers. It twisted in the air as Fred lunged at it, floating almost mockingly as he just missed. Then, without further ado, it spun, leaped and plunged into the fireplace.

Small Anne Cordelia pulled at Diana's skirts again. "Nobody said anything about Mrs. Harrison having left Mr. Harrison- nothing derogatory!" Diana asserted rebelliously.

"What do you mean?" Fred inquired, feeling quite lost.

But Diana pursed her red lips and shook her head, and brushed Small Anne Cordelia's sticky fingers off her skirt before running up to her bedroom and beginning a letter to Anne.

Dear Anne,

You did nothing so bad as you think you did! Truly.

You and Roy were an excellent couple, I admit, but I never did feel you were meant to be.

And in any case, Emily Harrison left Mr. Harrison, and she's told me herself that few people looked down on her. You sound so sad in your letter! Keep happy, dear. Remember when Dorothy told you that Royal had had other lovers he'd pined over, but 'got over'?

I really doubt that it is any big problem, Anne. And if you were unhappy in your marriage, why shouldn't you have left it?

Will you try for a divorce, Anne?

Diana heard Fred Jr. crying loudly and hurriedly signed the letter, then raced downstairs to see what the matter was.H


	4. Dorothy

**I wasn't sure what to do, so... When in doubt, create DRAMA!**

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A few days later, Anne clutched a sheaf of letters in her fist. They were from her friends, her family, so many people trying to reassure her. But she wouldn't _be_ reassured. In her eyes, this was terrible. She'd hurt so many people.

Her eyes bright with tears, she left the hotel. Mr Jones growled rudely at her as she passed his desk. Anne turned and her eyes filled with tears. The expression made Mr Jones lie tossing in his bed that night, uncomfortably thinking of that strange, sad lady.

Anne bit her lip so hard it bled. Her long, dark red hair lay in shiny curls down her back. She crumpled the letters in one hand, and crumpled the strap of her bag in the other. People stared as she walked past. Anne didn't give them so much of a glance, but instead shuffled by, scuffing her shiny black shoes in the dirt.

Her long dress dragged in the mud. Dejectedly she trailed down the road. She didn't know where she was going.

"Anne! Anne!"

Anne spun around and saw someone running towards her. Was it… Dorothy?"

Anne hid her face in her hands.

"Anne!" Dorothy cried reproachfully.

"No- no- Dorothy- please!" gasped Anne. Tears trickled down her face. Passers-by slowed their walk to catch as much of this strange meeting as was politely possible.

"Anne, why did you leave?" demanded Dorothy. "Roy's just about going demented. Why?"

"I- Dorothy, I- I…"

"You-"

"I'm sorry," Anne whispered. Then she turned and ran.

But, alas, bad luck was not through with her yet. Anne tripped over the leg of one of the curious spectators and fell heavily. Blood oozed out of a new cut in Anne's cheek and her arm throbbed. She could feel that her fine dress was torn and muddied. Tears seeped out of her eyelids.

"Anne!" shrieked Dorothy. Anne picked herself up. The bag had fallen open and clothes, food, money and jewels were scattered everywhere. There was no time to pick things up. Anne sprinted.


	5. The Beggarwoman

**I am sorry. I have a bit of a flair for the dramatic, I think. This chapter is a little short- the next one will be longer, promise.**

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Mr Perryman glanced down at the dirty woman sitting back against a brick wall.

"Shoo, you! This is not your home. Go away."

She didn't open her eyes, but tears dripped out of her eyelids and mingled with the blood on her face.

"Get out of here!" he bellowed, spit flying.

She hauled herself to her feet and walked down the lane.

"Filthy beggar women," she heard him mutter to his wife. "You keep away from them, Pamela."

"She had on an expensive-looking dress," his wife put in.

Mr Perryman snorted. "Probably bought it from coins she'd wheedled out of the rich." He was clearly very angry. His plump face was turning to the colour of raw ham. "If she thinks she's going to get at my hard-earned money then she's sorely mistaken."

Anne turned and raised her muddy face. "Keep your hard-earned money by all means, sir," she called back haughtily. "I would not wish to 'wheedle' anything that had been in _your_ possession."

His face turned the colour of beetroot.

Anne had always been slender, but now she was raw-boned and scrawny. Her skin draped over her skeletal form like clothes two sizes too big. Her grey eyes were enourmous in her gaunt face. Her mucky, torn and bloodstained dress trailed to the floor, not quite hiding her worn-thin shoes. Blood still dripped from a crimson wound on her face. One arm dangled close to uselessly by her side, battered and bruised. Two weeks wandering the streets, barely eating and drinking murky gutter-water had done this to her.

She kept an eye out for a bread roll to tumble to the ground (it had happened, once) but didn't see anything so lucky. Tired, cold and sore, she just curled up on the grass of a park and held a grungy hand to her cheek. Blood seeped out between her fingers.

It wasn't long till she was asleep, even though it was the middle of the day.


End file.
